


this is why we fight

by lilabut



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: (not actually as angsty as it sounds), Eventual Romance, F/M, First Kiss, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Hospitals, Illnesses, Injury, Mild Blood, post 2x18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-14
Updated: 2015-04-14
Packaged: 2018-03-22 23:04:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3746908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilabut/pseuds/lilabut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Ichabod thought he lost Abbie and the one time he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	this is why we fight

**the second time:**

 

Guilt settled in his stomach uneasily, a weight that made it difficult to sit still. It needled him, like an itch he must live through with bound hands. He kept his fingers woven into a tight fist, pressed against the small of his back, taking slow, long strides in front of the fireplace. Its warmth only reached his skin, a welcoming brush of heat each time he passed the flames, but it never sank deeper. He would not allow it.

 

Too encompassing was the disappointment in everything that had happened over the course of only two short days. Too hot the anger aimed at himself for all he had done wrong. Too palpable still the cold and lack of hope he felt being buried under rotting wood and damp earth. Much worse, the shame of betraying his partner, of failing to keep his wife safe.

 

No, he had no right to feel warm and sheltered in this very moment, not tonight.

 

Abbie stirred quietly where she lay asleep on the couch, and the small sound brought an end to Ichabod's tireless roaming. He watched as she readjusted her head against the armrest, how she buried her fingers beneath her cheek. In this moment, she appeared to him so peaceful, all worry or anger wiped clearly off her face. Perhaps it was why his gaze lingered there, on the soft outlines of her lips, on the bridge of her nose, on the line of her jaw, on the shadows cast by her eyelashes. Perhaps, he wondered as he took a careful step closer, intent not to wake her, he had never really looked at his fellow witness in this manner before. It seemed utterly ridiculous, but Ichabod was sure of this to be the first time he had really _seen_ her.

 

Only in the eye of loss did he fully understand what little he held dear in this strange new world.

 

The horrors she must have lived through during her captivity in Purgatory, he could hardly imagine. Still, the memory of how desperately she had clung to his imposter was a dark presence, and it stirred his guilt like a fire growing more and more alive in the dead of night.

 

He never should have allowed her to sacrifice herself for his wife. Everything Abbie had feared - that his love for Katrina and sense of duty for his marriage vows would come between them and cloud his judgment - had come true in the most harrowing of ways. Never should he have paved the way for the wretched prophecy to fulfill itself.

 

The way Abbie was in this moment, safe and sheltered, far away from harm and pain, was how she deserved to be always. Knowing that their path in this life would mean that moments like these were a rarity, made it all the clearer to Ichabod that it was his duty to keep her save, to keep her out of danger just as much as she fought to keep him safe in return. It may be their duty to fight evil and face the chance of dying for their cause one day, but their duty was also, above all else, to each other, and he understood now how much he had forgotten about this during his fight to rescue Katrina.

 

And had it all been worth it?

 

Abbie shivered slightly, the cabin prone to drafts as the wind howled ominously outside, creeping through cracks in the wall. He grabbed one of the neatly folded blankets he kept by the couch, unfolding it with suddenly calm and steady hands. It was his purpose that kept them still.

 

As he draped the bright red fabric over Abbie's small body, he kept his eyes averted from her face. To be this close, he felt as if he was imposing on her privacy in a moment of utter surrender and vulnerability. Still, he made sure to tuck the blanket around her sufficiently, and for a brief moment, felt the warmth radiating off of her. Unlike the heat of the flames, her warmth lingered when he stepped back, and he would carry it with him for the rest of the night.

 

Later, when he sat quietly in a chair, hands folded on the table in front of him, he could not fight the thought of where he would be now without her. To consider, even for the briefest moment, that she might have been lost in the world between worlds forever, far away from his reach, was to tear his own heart apart.

 

He could not lose her, not for anything in this world.

 

Deep inside, he felt the weight of this already pressing on his shoulders, Katrina's elated smile, her relief when finally she had been free of Moloch's grasp, gleaming in his memory, and suddenly, the warmth of Abbie's brief touch burned too hotly, too brightly, choking him where he sat. Katrina still was not safe.

 

_Not for anything in this world..._

 

**the third time:**

 

_Crane, get down!_ The blast had come out of nowhere, illuminating the small clearing with angry red light. They had only just discovered the witch in the depth of the forest, the full moon standing proudly against the cloudless sky.

 

But before they even had the slightest chance of forming a plan, Ichabod saw the wicked glint in the witch's eyes, felt Abbie's small but deft hands pushing him aside instantly. Before he had time to even register that he was losing his balance, the fireball blasted past him. His legs gave in, and as he tumbled to his knees, Abbie's hands suddenly disappeared.

 

The heat of the blast singed his beard, and for a brief moment, with the deafening crash as the fire hit a tree right behind him, he felt as if the world had ended. Stars were dancing before his eyes, a nauseating ring repeating in his ears. His fingers tightened around the pistol he had managed to hold on to. He waited for the smoke to settle, only a brief second, before shooting back onto his feet, ignoring the unsteady wavering of his legs.

 

A harrowing laughter filled the air, shrill and almost entrancing in its own wicked way. The woman smiled at him, red lips resembling blood in the light of the burning tree behind him. It were her eyes Ichabod was trying not to look into for too long. He remembered those eyes, empty, milky white and void of warmth and kindness. It were memories too fresh to linger on, too painful to even think about.

 

Elegant fingers rose into the air, but before the witch could form another ball of fire in the palm of her hand, Ichabod aimed the pistol, the metal almost like an extension to his arm, and pulled the trigger.

 

In the small clearing, the echo of the shot was too loud, ripping through the darkness violently. The woman was silent in its wake, looking down at the crimson stain growing larger and larger against her chest. With one last crooked smile, her skin began to glow like embers, another familiar sight that Ichabod could only barely witness without feeling his throat tighten. She fell apart in gleaming flakes, like glowing coals against the damp ground, until nothing was left of her but the flames still licking against the tree, and the eerie silence left in the wake of her death.

 

There was no time now for the smoke to settle or the night to clear. Ichabod hardly noticed the heat of the towering flames as he dropped the pistol. _Abbie!_ Frantically, his eyes scanned the muddy, leaf and moss-covered ground around him. She had been here mere seconds ago, by his side where she belonged. Over his rapidly beating heart, he could still feel the tingle where her hands had dug into his coat to push him aside.

 

_Abbie!_ He shouted her name into the night, her real name. In this moment, when his mind was already haunting him with images of burned flesh, there was nothing between them. No ranks, titles, distant names they gave each other because neither of them had ever really understood what they were to one another.

 

Taking wild strides towards the burning tree, Ichabod felt his throat burn as he called for her once more. He was too loud, the air too smokey, but he pressed his voice all the same. _Abbie!_

 

When he finally spotted her, just an arm peeking out from a bush, the heat of the flames obscuring his vision, Ichabod stormed forwards. With his chest rising and falling at an alarming rate that made him feel his heartbeat drumming in his ears, he knelt down by her side, twigs digging into his legs from all sides. Strong hands grabbed her arms, but the weight of the world fell from his shoulders when Abbie moved to sit up by herself.

 

For the briefest moment, Ichabod noticed the scratch on Abbie's cheek, the disheveled hair, strands sticking to a thin sheen of blood on her temple. What mattered was that she was alive and here, breathing, moving to rise onto her knees in front of him. With an almost violent exhale, Ichabod felt himself surging forward, his arms wrapping around Abbie in a tight lock, pushing her into his chest. She yelped quietly at the force with which he cradled her against him, the sound muffled by his coat. _Abbie_ , he repeated, softer this time. It resembled a whisper now compared to the way he had shouted it before, it felt too intimate while he was tucking her head beneath his chin, but he meant it with all his heart.

 

_I'm fine_ , Abbie mumbled into his chest, her own arms lifting enough for her to cross them behind his back. She sounded strong and confident, trying to convince him that the blast had not thrown her across the clearing while she was attempting to save his life. That any harm that had come to her was not his fault, when he should have seen through the woman he had married long before she betrayed him - betrayed them both - and awoke forces that turned innocent people into deadly weapons. Incapable of handling what had been dormant for centuries. The woman's white eyes still haunted him, and so Ichabod pulled Abbie even closer into his chest.

 

_Oh God, Abbie_ , he whispered, one hand finding its way from her back towards her face, cupping a blood-smeared cheek. She had survived so much, had endured such terrors. There was no way in this world that he would survive losing her. They were meant to work together, a partnership that went so much deeper than any marriage ever could. Without her, there was no him. They existed only together, as one. _I am so sorry._

 

_Crane, I'm fine_ , Abbie insisted, pushing herself away from his chest enough to be able to look up. He still held her face in the palm of his hand, and wondered when his thumb had begun to brush against her cheekbone. _I'm okay._ Her voice dropped to a whisper. Quietly, she looked into his eyes, the fingers of her right hand splaying like a star across his back, between his shoulder blades. Ichabod was sure she could feel his heart pounding. _I'm okay._

 

When her other hand found his face, soft fingers trembling over his singed beard and pulling him down into a tight embrace, Ichabod allowed his eyes to close, not afraid anymore of what he might see in the darkness of his mind. _You're okay._

 

**the fourth time:**

 

_beep. beep. beep._ The machines thrummed steadily, echoing a weak heartbeat, drawing lines in colors all too bright.

 

Abbie was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling in ragged motions, every intake of breath rattling like a child's broken toy, each exhale accompanied by a soft whimper, speaking of pain and exhaustion. Her skin had turned pale, a sickly shade gleaming in the angry white light of the hospital. Covering every exposed inch was a thin sheen of sweat, her green shirt sticking to her chest like a second skin, too tight, suffocating her.

 

She was deep asleep, or caught in a world somewhere between living and dying, far from anyone's reach. The medication had stopped the seizures, and she was calm now, only her eyes twitching behind closed lids, restless and afraid. Dark shadows resided beneath her eyes, her cheeks hollow, her arms thin and fragile.

 

Ichabod watched with tired, heavy-lidded eyes as Abbie struggled to breathe, fought to stay alive. She was far away from him now - he had heard the doctors muttering incoherent things about a coma, and wanted to scream at her to come back to him. Behind the plastic that sheltered her from the outside world and protected everybody else from whatever was quickly killing her, she seemed alone and unprotected. With his gloved hand, Ichabod pressed against the transparent barrier, longed to hold her, or at least take her hand in his.

 

There was no telling if she even knew he was here, had been here for hours. Days. Around them, the world was a rush of pain and tears, and beneath his quarantine suit, Ichabod felt the weight of fatigue, hunger and despair. Too many patients had died, just in the last hour. There were things he needed to do, duties he must fulfill, but he could not bring himself to move even an inch from Abbie's side. Not when every breath could be her last, not when every moment could be his last chance to tell her how much he needed her.

 

If this was the day he became the _only_ witness, he would spend it by her side.

 

_You're always so strong, Abbie_ , he spoke quietly, his voice muffled by the mask that shielded his airways. Outside of the room, a woman wailed, whether in grief or pain, he could no longer tell. The world was falling apart, and he was alone now, alone and defeated. _I need you to fight._

 

There was a way, a solution to this outbreak, this plague that the Horseman of Pestilence had brought upon them all. They had been so utterly unprepared, and when Abbie had fallen ill, it had all been too late. With her sister halfway across the world, and Frank not straying from his family's side, it was all on Ichabod. The ancient ceremony he had found hidden deep inside a scroll would save those who still had enough strength to live, but it needed to be performed during a new moon. Two more days. Abbie needed to stay alive for two more days.

 

_I can not lose you, Abbie._ The bitter tears that left a trail down his cheek took Ichabod by surprise, and he cursed the mask for preventing him from wiping them away. If Abbie was fighting for her life, what right did he have to be weak? _Stay with me, I beg you._

 

If this was the day he became the _only_ witness, he would fight for her until the very end.

 

**the fifth time:**

 

Her head was propped up on his lap, the cold asphalt beneath him seeping through his trousers. The night was pitch black, the stars hidden beneath clouds so thick they formed one immense veil, preventing even the moonlight from breaking through.

 

_We need to stop at the store on the way home._ Abbie's voice was quiet, he knew, but in the dead silence of the night, it rippled like a shout. He looked down at her, brows furrowed with worry, and grasped her hand tighter. Beneath his touch, her fingers were immobile, dead, not responding to his touch at all.

 

She was looking at him, but Ichabod knew she saw nothing but stars, her eyes clouded and without focus. _We're going to the hospital, Abbie_ , he told her again. By now, he had lost count of how many times he had explained this to her. Each time, she drifted off, staring into nothingness, losing herself somewhere he could not reach her.

 

With his free hand, he gently tilted Abbie's head, relieved to see that the bleeding had almost entirely stopped. _Whatever. I need laundry detergent._ There was no determination in her voice. To him, it sounded more like a sleepy whimper, mumbled into the darkness without any real thought.

 

_I will fetch some for you later_ , he whispered, adjusting his hand so that her fingers were entwined with his. Nervously, his eyes flickered down the deserted road, or what little of it he could make out. What was taking them so long? _But first, I need to get you to a hospital. The ambulance will be here shortly._

 

_Why?_ For the first time since she fell down the wretched well, Abbie's eyes seemed to clear up, focusing on Ichabod for a brief moment. Within that moment, she looked terrified, and when her fingers squeezed his, Ichabod carefully pulled her closer into him.

 

_You fell, Lieutenant, quite badly._ In the back of his mind, Ichabod still heard her surprised gasp, the bone-trembling scream as she tumbled over the brick wall and into the darkness of the well. He had been there in an instant, just in time to see her flashlight die as it shattered on the hard ground. Never in his lifetime would he forget the fear that cursed through him then, in that moment when he stood by himself in the darkness, the demon's body bloody and dead against the forest floor. In retrospect, he might have stopped breathing until he heard Abbie's weak whimper in the darkness. Nevertheless, his heart was still pounding against the confines of his ribcage, impossible to tame. Even now.

 

Far off in the distance, a siren began to echo through the night, and Ichabod felt a flicker of hope burn brightly inside of him. His hand moved away from the side of her skull to cup her cheek, thumb fluttering across her cheekbone, gently holding her, desperate to chase away the fear that still seemed to cling to her.

 

_I'm tired_ , she whispered, and panic shot through him when he realized she was making complete sense now, seemed to finally understand where they were and what had happened.

 

Louder and louder did the sirens ring. Closer and closer did they come in the night.

 

_No, Abbie_. He was lifting her now, up against his chest, against where his heart was beating for the both of them. _Stay with me_ , he begged, louder than necessary - they were so close now. Weakly, he could feel her breath against his skin, felt the warmth leaving her slowly as a different kind of cold than that of the night began to claim her. _You need to stay awake._

 

Abbie's eyes were fluttering, clearly fighting to keep them open. But with each second that passed, her strength continued to leave her. Ichabod's gaze fell from her heavy eyes to her lips, droplets of blood gathering between them where they were parted. Weakly, she smiled, a mere twitch that he might have missed had they not been so close. _Love you_ , she whispered, the words almost choked, blood now trailing in a fine, thin line towards her chin.

 

The words, as disfigured as they were, cut through him like knives, like daggers through his heart. _Abbie!_ Over and over did he mutter her name, wiping the blood from her chin as if that gesture alone might save her. With great effort, she managed to open her eyes, lips widening into almost a reassuring smile. It felt as if she was comforting him, right now as she passed away from him, out of his reach.

 

_It's so bright_ , she muttered, air escaping her lungs in a terrible gurgling sound.

 

_Abbie, no!_ Ichabod shouted, rocking her in his arms as her eyes lost track of him once more. She was no longer with him, he knew, staring at something over his shoulder, something he could not see with his waking eyes. _Look at me. Abbie, please._

 

Tears were dropping down onto her skin, mingling with her blood, but Ichabod made no attempt to hold them back, whispering her name as the night was suddenly illuminated by red and blue lights, the sirens ringing in his ears.

 

_Don't buy lavender. You know... I hate..._ Abbie coughed, her body aching in his arms, and finally, her fingers relaxed against his, no longer responding to his touch.

 

When he sat by her bed after she came out of surgery a few hours later, her hand felt warm beneath his, but her smile had disappeared.

 

**the sixth time:**

 

The front door fell shut behind Ichabod with a little too much force, the wooden frame aching from the impact, but Abbie paid no attention to it. _Remind me to take another gun with me next time_ , she said absent-mindlessly, throwing the words over her shoulder as she marched into her kitchen. Her keys dropped nosily onto the counter, right next to the abandoned groceries from this morning.

 

Her words were lost to Ichabod, floating through his mind only briefly before the pulsing of his blood and the rapid drumming of his heart drowned them again. He stood there by the door, arms rigid by his side, fingers flexing, and simply stared across the room to where Abbie was pushing aside a cereal box. _I thought I lost you._

 

If Abbie noticed that this was far from just another near-miss situation to him, she did not let it show. Looking up, she seemed genuinely surprised to see him still standing by the door, her eyes scanning his face with furrowed brows. _Sorry?_

 

Outside, the sun was setting, tinting the world in red and orange, the comforting light flooding through the curtains Abbie never bothered to pull closed. Any other day, Ichabod would have cherished the magnificent spectacle of light, one he preferred so much over lamps and light bulbs, even the soothing flickering of candles. Not tonight. Tonight, he only saw her, and only felt the darkness in his heart she would leave behind should she ever be taken away from him. _I heard you scream and I thought I lost you._

 

He remembered all too vividly the many times before, the times when she had shushed him, swatted away any such thoughts with the flick of a hand. Perhaps she had been afraid of his fear, afraid that he cared so much and so deeply that the mere idea of losing her caused him to fall apart right in front of her. On another day, she might have averted this conversation. Not tonight. Tonight, her face softened, the wrinkles on her forehead giving away to smooth skin, her lips curling into a gentle smile.

 

Tonight, she walked over to him slowly but surely, her footsteps echoing in the silence of the room. His eyes followed the blurred shadow she cast in the dim light, fingers still fidgeting against his thighs. _I'm fine, Ichabod_ , she assured quietly, coming to a stop in front of him. She was so small, the way he had to bow his head to look at her coming as naturally as a blink after all these years, and still, it amazed him how much strength and willpower, how much grace and goodness she held in such a small body. _Nothing happened._

 

She was not trying to downplay his worry. Quite on the contrary, in her very own way and as much as she could allow it, she was acknowledging it, almost welcoming the love they had both struggled to overlook for so long. _It could have_ , he whispered, his voice uncharacteristically hoarse, breaking after only a few syllables. _It almost has, too many times_. Somehow, all the walls they had built so carefully over the years, brick by brick, shielding them from unnecessary pain and complication, were falling down. Without second thought, he reached across the small distance Abbie had left between them, cupping her face in his trembling palms. _I can not lose yo_ _u, Abbie._

 

With her lips still curved into a gentle smile, she lifted her own hands, resting them above his. Not to pull him away, but to hold him there, to secure his touch, his warmth. _I'm right here_ , she muttered quietly, eyes finally fixed on his, unwilling to bend to the heavy weight of all their burdens. _We're both right here._

 

When Ichabod closed the last remaining distance between them, pulling Abbie gently but determinedly further towards him, there was nothing left in him holding him back. As his eyes fell shut, he waved goodbye to all doubts and restraints. They dissolved into fine mist the moment their lips touched. He knew Abbie felt the same rush of relief, her hands on his tugging him closer.

 

She melded into him, her lips a soft breeze against his. It did not feel like a first kiss. There was no tidal wave of excitement or desire. It felt right, and whole, and something clicked the moment they connected, something that had been out of alignment from the first day they had crashed into each others' lives.

 

Tenderly, Ichabod brushed his thumbs across her cheekbones, allowed his fingers to play with the strands of hair that were tickling Abbie's face. There would never be a day on this Earth that would pass without him cherishing her. The darkness that had loomed in his heart had faded, giving way to a bright warmth that spread in tingles across his skin.

 

When they parted, Abbie held him close, preventing him from pulling back much further than an inch. Exhaling loudly into the small space between them, he allowed his forehead to drop against hers. _Please don't ever leave_ , he whispered, knowing she could feel his breath against her skin. She repaid his words almost instantly, the soft smile still tickling the corners of her mouth, and when she pulled herself up against him, he could feel the stretch of it against his lips.

 

Without her, there was no him. Not in this time, not truly. But now, there was a _they_ , and perhaps it had been the way it was meant to be all along.

 

**the first time:**

 

He cursed Miss Mills for being so impractically short. Had she been taller, none of this would have happened in the first place, he took immense pride in telling himself that as he wandered aimlessly among the overloaded shelves of this store.

 

The sheer enormous size of this store was scandalous, a maze of foreign goods and strange objects. After one week in this age, he still could not believe that this was the same country he had once helped shape, had known so well. So little of what comforted him, of what felt like home to him, was left, everything twisted and obscured and downright obscene.

 

He had been lost every minute of every day from the moment he had awoken from his death-like sleep, had burst out of his premature grave. But now, in this labyrinth that could have fed and clothed and sheltered an entire town for months in his time, he was truly lost.

 

If only the Lieutenant was just a little bit taller, she never would have disappeared into thin air. How was he supposed to find her in this large, crowded, loud place that seemed to have neither an end nor a beginning?

 

As he rushed down another aisle, no longer paying mind to the items stacked high on the shelves, he noticed an elderly lady pushing her cart, eying him with suspicion. He must look out of place, he was fully aware. But the notion of giving away the clothes that had been his for so long, that had seen and lived through so many things, that he had been buried in, it pained him too much. If the prize for a small sense of security in this strange time were Miss Mills' mocking remarks and elderly ladies' stares, he was glad to pay it.

 

_Crane!_ The sound of his name stopped Ichabod in his tracks, and with a swing of his coat, he turned. Miss Mills was marching towards him, looking more than slightly exasperated, raising her arms in a motion that appeared to convey frustration and relief at the same time. His own heart calmed substantially as he approached her with wide strides. _Where the hell did you go?_

 

She sounded almost furious with him, a notion he could not understand. Surely she must have known that taking him to such a place would require her assistance, her answers to the thousands of questions that burned on his tongue. Instead, she had slipped away in a moment of curiosity, leaving him to fend for himself. Still, he was grateful for all the help she had already offered him, for the trust she had put in him where she could have chosen to leave him behind, so he straightened his back and put on a courteous smile. _Thank the Lord, I thought I lost you, Miss Mills._

 

Abbie pressed her hands into her hips, her badge peeking out from beneath her leather jacket. She looked immensely fierce for a person so small, her eyes glinting with fire. He admired it, truly. _You did_ , she pointed out, pointing a finger at him. _I told you to stay right behind me._

 

The elderly lady passed them slowly, her cart loaded to the brim (why would any person be in need of such a splurging amount of goods?). Ichabod nodded politely as he noticed she was still staring, waiting silently until she was a safe distance away before he focused back on Abbie, who still looked as if he alone was to blame for this misery. Today, he would let her win. _I apologize profusely, Lieutenant. I was merely amazed by the array of exotic fruits on display, when suddenly you had disappeared._

 

If he had thought that a mere (undeserved, he might add) apology would be enough to make up for the troubles of the past twenty minutes, he had been awfully wrong. In the past week since his awakening in this world, Ichabod felt he had grown to know Miss Mills quite closely, much closer than he had known a great deal of people in his lifetime. But in this moment, when she took a deep breath and stepped closer to avoid curious ears, he realized that he was not yet able to predict her reactions. At all.

 

_Do you have any idea how embarrassing it would have been for me if I hadn't found you?_ She was hissing more than talking, very unlike her usual clear and determined voice. But this place was hardly private, and far from ideal to discuss his manner of bafflement by the modern world. _I would've had to go to the store manager and tell him I lost my 6-foot-tall British friend in full colonial get-up who name-drops founding fathers like it's his job and has no idea what any of the stuff in this place is, but really, he's not crazy, I just got him out of the psych ward last week._

 

Ichabod stood silently in the middle of the towering aisle, looking down at Abbie with curiosity. Her near endless and unusual string of words had stunned him into petrification, and he flexed his fingers against his thighs. _Friend?_ he finally asked, breaking the tense silence between them.

 

Abbie took a second before replying, her face softening just enough for him to know that he was forgiven for being such a nuisance to her. _Yeah,_ she huffed, waving her hand through the air dismissively. _Now come on._

 

As she turned around, Ichabod did not miss the chaste and careful smile on her lips, and he thought it a marvelous sight. It was infectious, his own lips forming a confident grin as he made quick strides to follow her. He would make sure not to lose her again.

**Author's Note:**

> title is taken from 'this is why we fight' by the decemberists.
> 
> I hope this wasn't too angsty, cause I wanted to write something happy. I fail at happy.


End file.
